


More of this

by weweretold



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Masturbation, Sherlock Holmes and Experiments, Smut, Smut Sunday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 02:00:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6451024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weweretold/pseuds/weweretold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For an unobservant onlooker, it almost seemed like not much was happening at all, like John was only sitting down on Sherlock’s lap, facing him with his knees on either side of Sherlock’s hips, both fully clothed, and not touching save for John’s arse on Sherlock’s knees.</p><p>The onlooker in question would have to be <em>extremely</em> unobservant, though, to miss the heated flesh of both their erections, stroked by their own hands, their breaths quick and shallow, their gazes locked, intermittent glances thrown downwards to see smooth flesh pounded by fists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More of this

**Author's Note:**

> Figured I'd give Sunday Smut a chance again! Unbeta'd and unbritpicked, so if you've got any suggestions for improvement, let me know.

For an unobservant onlooker, it almost seemed like not much was happening at all, like John was only sitting down on Sherlock’s lap, facing him with his knees on either side of Sherlock’s hips, both fully clothed, and not touching save for John’s arse on Sherlock’s knees.

The onlooker in question would have to be _extremely_ unobservant, though, to miss the heated flesh of both their erections, stroked by their own hands, their breaths quick and shallow, their gazes locked, intermittent glances thrown downwards to see smooth flesh pounded by fists.

Really, Sherlock reflected, even a blind observer would quickly figure out what was going on, by the sound of flesh on flesh, of laboured breaths punctuated by moans and gasps, and the mixture of fresh sweat beading on bodies heated up to the point of arousal, mixed with evaporating particles of the pre-ejaculatory fluid produced autonomously by the bulbourethral glands.

How did they get there? Sherlock’s mind was still reeling, catching up, because this was not nearly how he’d expected the night to go. It was quite incongruent, in fact, with any of the scenarios he’d previously deemed realistic or possible. But as John’s arse settled on Sherlock’s legs, close to his knees, making their faces almost the same height, he looked into John’s eyes and it gripped him, the understanding that this was actually happening, and the flush on John’s cheeks loosened something inside him, drew out a gasp and a half-pronounced name.

They’d been on a case, a particularly boring one, in fact. But when Sherlock had stood up after he’d studied the victim’s bare feet up close (confirming his conclusion of a poisoning at the bath house he’d left less than an hour before), right in the middle of unfolding his legs to get back to standing height, he’d been struck by a realisation.

John was aroused.

There had been a slight bulge in his pants – thank God for short coats – and his pupils had been dilated, his breath faster than usual, indicating an elevated pulse. Sherlock had been very aware of his position not two seconds earlier – on his knees, arse in the air – and had decided on an experiment.

Long story short, that experiment had brought them back to Baker Street, silent but panting, not touching each other but only looking, hands in their own trousers to still the need of their flesh clamouring for physical contact. John had backed Sherlock onto the couch and straddled him, and that’s where they were, still barely touching except for John’s arse on Sherlock’s upper legs, John’s knees gripping Sherlock’s thighs on either side, and yet, that was enough. The awareness of an equal desire gripping them both, of their arousal growing together as their hands sought to relieve that hunger by stroking fast and hard, made for an unspoken agreement that anything more would be too much, too much for all at once, after so many years of not touching at all, of keeping their desires bottled up and invisible.

You never give a malnourished person a full meal. You never put a severely hypothermic patient directly into a hot bath.

This was just enough. Eyes already saying too much, gazes crawling into each other’s minds, hands on their own flesh, the raw pleasure of hearing each other’s heavy breaths, tension building up inside, the delicious realisation that this was the first step in whatever was to come after.

_Oh._ Whatever was to come after. More of this. _More._ Sherlock involuntarily sucked in a gasping breath and John’s eyelids fluttered as his lips quivered with half-pronounced words. John’s knees gripped Sherlock’s thighs tighter and a tension grew in his jaw, his eyebrows drawing upwards in an almost desperate expression, and Sherlock felt his own hips lifting up from the couch when he thrust into his own fist faster and faster, and it took him all his willpower to keep his eyes from closing in pleasure when there was so much magnificence to drink in: John’s face shining with sweat, his lips parted, eyes glowing, and further downwards his strong thighs framing his cock, which was frankly _glorious_ , thick in John’s small hand and curved slightly upwards and by now liberally lubricated with its own fluid and only inches away from Sherlock’s cock, and –

Sherlock’s eyes closed involuntarily when he came, hips bucking up, explosions of light going off in his chest, the heat in his belly expending itself through his cock and his mouth and he forced his eyes open just in time to catch John with his mouth open and his face tilted upwards, gasping loudly as he ejaculated over his own hand before curling in slightly to rest his forehead against Sherlock’s.

Sherlock uncurled his own fingers from his flagging erection and brushed them against John’s loosening fist, urging a slight movement from John’s fingers in return.

They’d never even held hands before.

John locked his fingers around Sherlock’s, and they stayed silent for seconds, catching their breaths and catching up with what had just happened, and Sherlock blinked rapidly and then, _yes, more of this_ , tilted his head slightly to brush his lips against John’s.

John expelled a hot breath against Sherlock’s lips, almost in shock, stayed still for a second, and then opened his lips to capture Sherlock’s mouth in a slow, careful kiss.

Sherlock’s back discharged a tension he hadn’t been aware of before. This was really happening. More of this – and it was starting right now.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, I'd love to hear what you think <3


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